


Metamorphose

by braille_upon_my_skin



Category: High School Musical (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 11:15:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6564094
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/braille_upon_my_skin/pseuds/braille_upon_my_skin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>His freshman year, he'd opted to grow his hair out, reasoning that starting high school meant that it was time for a change. His junior year, he and Gabriella flipped the status quo at East High on its head by auditioning for the winter musical. Now, it looks to be time for another change. Slash. T/R</p>
            </blockquote>





	Metamorphose

 

* * *

 

The picture stares back at him; a shaggy-haired brunette boy with blue eyes and tanned skin, clad in a loose-fitting white jersey with the number fourteen emblazoned on it in bright red print. This boy with a calm, level gaze is the captain of East High's basketball team. A leader. According to his father, this kid has a good head sitting on his shoulders. He's also the golden boy who is surrounded by people who love and adore him, because he is exactly who they want him to be. He's "The Basketball Guy". A _champion_.

Not that long ago, the boy in the picture was the very face that greeted Troy Bolton when he peered into the mirror. These days, however, it feels to Troy that that's no longer the case. His hair is cut short for the summer and dyed dark, effectively concealing the lighter highlights that he sported when he'd posed for that picture. But, that exterior change isn't the only disconnect separating Troy Bolton from who he used to be.

Despite performing in the Lava Springs talent show alongside him, the Wildcats, his posse, his _friends_ , have disowned him. Chad Danforth, his best friend who is practically his brother, won't even speak to him. And, Gabriella, his girlfriend, the person who he thought understood him on a level that the guys on the team never could, left him. She quit the job that Troy had helped her to get, and returned the necklace that he bought for her, a tangible declaration of his commitment to her, because he _ruined her summer_.

All of them claimed that Troy had changed into some colossal jerk, and he was starting to believe that maybe they're right.

Maybe, he really has changed. Troy knows that he certainly doesn't recognize his own face in the mirror, anymore. No, the boy in the picture, the "Wildcat superstar", seems to have existed in another lifetime, given how quickly Troy Bolton has become a complete _loser_.

 _All because I was concerned about my future?_ Troy questions himself. _Because I did something for myself?_ Suddenly, possessing the title of East High's Golden Boy has never seemed more like another expectation that was unwillingly foisted upon him. _You know_ , Troy muses bitterly, _maybe I'm sick and tired of being pushed around every time I fail to live up to someone else's expectations._

He swallows hard, his breath rate picking up and tears stinging his eyes. Something inside of him that had been gradually beaten down and buried for so many years, surges to the forefront of his brain. It urges him onward. Encouraging him. He is fed up with everyone trying to dictate his life choices for him. Sure. Maybe caring about his future does make him a complete douchebag in the eyes of the Wildcats. And, maybe Gabriella is sitting in her bedroom, calling him a selfish idiot.

But, Troy forces every thought spared for their opinions out of his mind.

His freshman year, he'd opted to grow his hair out, reasoning that starting high school meant that it was time for a change.

During his sophomore year, after enduring heckling and harassment from the older guys on the basketball team for being the coach's son, he pushed himself to bulk up his scrawny physique, and to become the team's key strategist, in the hopes that he would come to earn the respect of his teammates.

His junior year, he and Gabriella flipped the status quo at East High on its head by auditioning for the winter musical.

Now, it looks to be time for another change.

Troy's eyes sweep slowly over the pictures of Gabriella, and the various pieces of East High paraphernalia decorating the walls and the furniture of his bedroom. Then, his gaze returns to the picture laying on the bed beside him. The picture of the _former_ Troy Bolton.

He is just going to have to find the _new_ Troy Bolton. Even if that means testing the waters until he finds a pool that suits him. For once in his life, Troy is entirely in charge of an aspect of his identity. The prospect of having that kind of power is sort of intimidating, yes. Yet, it's also incredibly _empowering_. A smile quirks up the ends of Troy's mouth for the first time in days.

 

 

* * *

 

While his parents sit out in the backyard, enjoying his dad's famous barbecued ribs, Troy pads down the hallway as silently as he can manage, his arms loaded with a heavy box. He ignores the gnawing emptiness in his stomach. Instead, he focuses on maneuvering toward the front door. While getting the door open, he has to carefully shift the weight of the rather hefty bundle in order to give himself a free hand to work with. He finds himself being grateful for the days spent carting around golf bags at work.

As Troy lugs the box down the front porch steps, he can make out the sound of picture frames clinking against trophies. _I hope I don't break something._ Fortunately, he gets his cargo safely to the garage, carefully lowers it to the floor, and thankfully, avoids smashing his fingers, in the process.

Phase one is complete.

Troy pauses at the entrance of the garage and looks back at the box. He feels a dull ache in his chest as he considers all of the things that he is packaging away. Trophies, pieces of red and white clothing that he once wore to showcase his Wildcat pride, photographic evidence of his relationship with Gabriella, his very _first_ relationship… All of them, crucial elements of the image that he maintained for years.

The image that kept him bound and restrained.

Turning away sharply, Troy pushes the button to close the garage. The door slowly comes down, sealing away all traces of East High's Primo Boy. Troy hurries back inside the house. He can't help but feel like some sort of escapee. He knows that it's stupid, but a part of him feels like he has to proceed with his transformation soon, before someone catches him, and convinces him to revert back to being unwillingly put on a pedestal by the majority of the student body. To revert back to not being allowed to have faults. To being punished for every little mistake that he makes, because he isn't permitted to be anything less than _perfect_.

Once he is safely back inside, the front door closed behind him, Troy stops to catch his breath. And, to get his heart-rate back under control. _Come on. Keep it together._ Assured that his parents are still outside, he dashes to their bedroom, prepared to commence with phase two.

 

 

* * *

 

Troy stands before the bathroom mirror. On the counter near him sits an East High yearbook that is opened to images of the handful of elusive goth kids that attend the school. Troy's eyes drop to study the distinctive makeup around their eyes, and the accessories that help them to achieve their unique look. Chains, piercings, metal spikes, belts, makeup.

All of the accessories are a little bit outside of his reach, at least for the time being. But, the makeup… Nervously, Troy runs his fingers up and down the black eyeliner pencil that he "borrowed", from his mother. He can do this. "Okay," he murmurs once he's sure that he has a basic idea of how to go about putting on the eyeliner, "I just have to…" Staring back at his reflection, he brings the pencil up to eye-level, and tentatively sketches out a line under his right eye. He's surprised to find that he has to press down quite a bit harder than he first thought.

And… he pokes himself in the eye.

"Figures," Troy mutters, wincing and closing the stinging eye as it waters. The only time in recent memory that he'd worn makeup was for the East High winter musical. Back then, he had Ryan Evans, the flamboyant theater king with an affinity for hats, to help him with the application of blush, mascara, foundation, and all of that other stuff that Troy never bothered to learn the names of.

 _Ryan_. Images of pink lips, sky blue eyes, pale, creamy skin, a heart-melting smile, and curvy hips, fill Troy's mind. He can practically hear Ryan's light, easy-going alto-tenor pitched voice echoing the words of praise that he directed at the athlete several days ago. _"Hey. My dad says you're doing great with those college guys."_

Heat creeps across Troy's face as he reopens his eye. He feels a sharp twinge of guilt far down within his chest and stomach. _While everyone else was telling me how wrong I was for going to that scrimmage with the Red Hawks, Ryan tried to compliment me for being able to hold my own against those guys. He was the only one who ever did… And, I was such an_ asshole _to him!_ He can still clearly picture Ryan awkwardly ducking out, after Troy let the belief that Ryan was attempting to move in on Gabriella get the better of him, and snapped at the smaller boy.

Troy meets his own eyes in the mirror. He has half a mind to punch either his reflection or himself. Yes, he and Ryan are friends, now. Vivid recollections of Ryan's smiling face as he refused to accept Troy's apology for his part in the callous disregard of the effort that he had put into the Lava Springs talent show, on the grounds that he'd had fun in spite of it, and Ryan's hand in his, fill Troy's mind. But, their newly official friendship _doesn't_ make Troy's prior treatment of Ryan okay by any means.

Steadying his shaking hand, Troy redirects his attention back to his… _makeover_. He vows to himself that the New Troy will make everything right. And, he'll start by apologizing to Ryan.

As he carefully practices tracing the edges of his upper and lower eyelids, Troy can almost feel Ryan's gentle hand guiding the pencil, Ryan's breath ghosting across his face. He would be lying to himself if he said that he _doesn't_ feel a fluttering sort of heat spreading throughout the pit of his stomach. It would be an even bigger lie if he tried to convince himself that this is the first time that this sensation can be directly attributed to his incredibly attractive blond classmate.

Watching Ryan happily prance around in his element while choreographing the Wildcats, seeing Ryan achieve a hole-in-one while golfing with his family and celebrate his victory with a delighted fist pump, greeting Ryan before sitting down to a rather uncomfortable dinner with the Evans family, the sight of Ryan in a ridiculously over the top orange skirt, Ryan extending his hand to the brunette athlete, Ryan's hand resting on his back… No, this feeling- of _attraction_?- has been there for some time.

The moment that Troy began to acknowledge it, however, he would be reminded of his relationship with Gabriella, usually by unwarranted advances from Sharpay Evans, and all feelings of desire for Ryan wound up being pushed to the back of his mind. _Now that Gabriella's out of the picture_ , Troy contemplates, _what does this mean for me and Ryan?_

 

 

* * *

 

 _Gabriella is leaving him, again. This time, though, he can't speak. It's as if his voice is simply gone. Unusable._ Ineffective _. "Gabriella!" He attempts desperately to call out. "I never wanted to hurt you. Please, don't go. I want you to stay with me!"_ But, no matter how hard he tries, the words are lodged in his throat, unable to reach her.

_One minute, her hands are in his. Her warmth, her closeness are within his grasp. Then, she withdraws. She turns and runs away from him, just like she did the first time, and he can only watch her go with a great weight crushing his chest, utterly powerless to stop her._

_Because_ he _is the reason she's leaving._

 _It's_ all his fault _._

 _The scenario changes. Troy finds himself kissing the neck of an upset Ryan, after Sharpay, Ryan's much more aggressive, popular, and frightening twin sister, pushed her brother too far. Yet, Troy can't help believing that he is also to be held accountable for Ryan's sadness. "I'm sorry, Ryan. I'm_ so _sorry," he murmurs over and over as his lips make their way down the blond boy's pale throat to his creamy chest and shoulders._

_A soft, pleasurable moan escapes Ryan._

_I_ _n response, heated tingling shoots through Troy's body, causing a piercing ache in his chest, and pooling in his groin, until-_

Shrill, invasive beeping breaks through Troy's subconscious, and he jolts awake. As he regains semi-awareness of his body and surroundings, he can feel his heart thudding, blood pulsing in his temples… and a rather _important_ piece of his anatomy throbbing. The feeling of Ryan's bare skin against his lips, and the sensation of feeling a moan swell within the blond boy's musical throat, floods over Troy. "Shit…" He whispers. Running a hand through his hair, he forces himself upright and back into a state of full consciousness. One glance at his alarm clock informs him that he's running late.

As… _fascinating_ as the fantasy was, Troy's hair is damp with sweat, and, as he notes wryly, he probably has laughable bed head. He is also all too aware of his boxers clinging to him in an incredibly uncomfortable fashion inside of the sweatpants that he'd worn to bed. He sighs exasperatedly, rubbing at his eyes to clear the sleep from them.

Then it hits him. Today is _the day_.

Troy tosses his quilt aside and stumbles to his feet. For once in his life, he is going to do what feels right to him, and ignore what anyone else has to say about it. There's no hiding in his bed, or calling off work, claiming that he's sick.

Which he considered doing several times over the last week.

It's cowardly, yes, but the environment at Lava Springs is borderline unbearable as of late, with the Wildcats giving him the cold shoulder, and, the added pain of not being able to talk to, or even _see_ Gabriella during his breaks.

No. _Forget about them. It's now or never_ , Troy reminds himself. He quickly selects his attire for the day, then heads to the bathroom to shower. He has to be _fast_. His parents will be getting up soon, and he knows that he's already going to be anxious enough during the ride to work with his dad, let alone putting on makeup once he's there. Keeping the senior Bolton male waiting for a nice hot shower would just cause more unneeded stress.

 

 

* * *

 

At first, no one seems to notice anything outside of the ordinary as he arrives at Lava Springs for his shift. Then, Troy enters the kitchen where his friends are chatting with each other, and as soon as they catch sight of him, their conversations stop dead. Rather than looking the other way, though, as if they're attempting to pretend that Troy Bolton no longer exists, they're _staring_.

Zeke Baylor, one of Troy's closest friends on the basketball team, nearly drops the croissant that he's transferring to Troy's plate. He boggles, his brown eyes wide. "A-Are you-?!" He starts only to abruptly cut himself off.

Troy blinks, his brows furrowed curiously, but says nothing. As he makes his way over to an empty table, he can hear the whispers of speculation.

"What's up with Bolton?"

"I don't know."

More indiscernible whispers and murmurs circulate the room, like a fly buzzing incessantly next to Troy's ear. Then, someone figures it out.

"Troy Bolton went goth?" The words are spoken in a tone of harsh disbelief, as if this revelation is somehow earth-shattering.

Troy halts. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the jaws of more than a few people are hanging open in awe. Eyes are fixated on him, as though he's shown up for work sporting a black eye and bloody nose, as opposed to simply wearing some, unfortunately, rather messy eyeliner, and black studs in his ears.

Jason Cross, the ditzy, dark-haired fourth member of the basketball team's core players, and one of Troy's other close friends, gapes openly. Until Chad Danforth shoots him a stifling glare.

Troy takes a deep breath. A large part of him was dreading facing his best friend. _Or, is it_ former _best friend?_ A lump constricts Troy's throat.

When he feels Chad's brown eyes boring into him with a stare of disapproval, Troy steels himself. _Come on. You're wearing black eyeliner and black clothes. He'll get the hint._ He turns and meets the bushy-haired athlete's eyes calmly and steadily.

Chad holds Troy's gaze for several tentative seconds. The air between them is heavy, as if people are silently goading them into another confrontation like the previous one that almost ended in thrown punches. With a bewildered shake of his head, Chad breaks the eye-contact and returns to his plate of food.

A weight compacts Troy's chest. For an instant, he regrets his decision to attempt to adopt a new identity. He is supposed to be a leader. Someone that Chad and the others can rely on to fix their problems. He _isn't_ supposed to be causing problems for them.

Yet, where were Chad, Zeke, and Jason when Troy was having problems? Which one of the guys helped Troy to get a summer job? Who was telling him that he was good enough for any college, when he couldn't bring himself to believe that?

No.

Troy Bolton is a new person, now. He no longer has to be intimidated by any of the Wildcats, and fear their judgement. Drawing confidence from the rebellious dark color decorating his exterior, Troy lifts his chin. He heads out of the kitchen for a stroll around the premises and leaves his plate of food untouched behind him.

 

 

* * *

 

Sharpay is on the verge of hysterics when she takes in the makeup trimming the perimeter of Troy's eyes. "What did you do to your face?!" She cries out.

Before Troy can string together a succinct explanation, she's firmly latched onto his wrist and begins attempting to drag him somewhere to wash what she refers to as "hideous, Tim Burton-spawned, nightmare face paint", off.

With a bit of struggling on his part, Troy manages to break free of her grip. "Sharpay, I've got to get to work. There are tables that need waiting on."

"No you don't! You're going to stand here and tell me just what the hell you think you're doing!" Sharpay demands. Her intense brown eyes penetrate him. It's as if she is attempting to scour his insides for an answer.

Troy's skin prickles and his pulse picks up. This is _ridiculous_. Would anyone else altering their appearance receive this sort of attention? Is he only on the receiving end of so many looks of shock and horror, and so much opposition, because he was _East High's Golden Boy_? Or is it because Sharpay chose _him_ to be her singing partner, and in some twisted fantasy of hers, they were "meant to sing together"? Sharpay _did_ make amends with Ryan, and she revealed her vulnerable, all too human emotional side to Troy the night of the talent show, making them somewhat cool with each other. However, her insistence on undesired physical contact, and her uninvited relentless romantic pursuit are still fresh in Troy's mind. His heart thunders, and he considers bolting away from the Lava Springs princess as quickly as his legs can carry him.

Thankfully- Troy honestly never thought that he would find himself being grateful to see the ever flustered man, _But, hey. First time for everything, right?_ \- the manager at Lava Springs, Mr. Fulton, appears. "Bolton," he declares, "your services are needed in the dining room!"

"I'm on my way, Mr. Fulton!" Without another word, Troy hurries into the men's locker room to change into his uniform. He expressly asked Mr. Fulton for his kitchen job back, as a show of solidarity to his friends and teammates, and because he had more than enough of Sharpay being able to use his employment and need for money as a means of manipulating him. He feels a rush of gratitude that Ryan convinced him to get back out onstage and sing in the talent show for the boosters from the University of Albuquerque, so his scholarship woes are no longer eligible weaponry. Before the door shuts behind him, sealing him safely away from prying eyes, he can hear Sharpay snarling.

 

 

* * *

 

During his break, Troy takes a seat in the empty music room. He missed the security that came with having his own secret place to escape to when the pressure of measuring up to everyone's expectations got to be too much for him. Here, he convinced himself that it would be as simple as putting on some black makeup, and hoping that people would take the hint that he was extending a metaphorical middle finger to their demands for him. _I guess that was a bit too idealistic_ , he thinks with a sigh. Leaning back in his chair, he forces himself to disregard the churning of his stomach.

Why is it so _difficult_ for him to stop caring about what other people think about him? Why can't he be more like Ryan, who probably has a closet filled with hats, and bravely wears even the ones covered in sequins to school?

Troy is snapped out of staring listlessly out the window at the pool and wishing that he could dive into it and disappear for a while, by a soft voice saying, "I heard Sharpay freaking out about your makeover."

He turns to find Kelsi Nielsen taking a seat behind the piano. Kelsi, the shy, petite, brunette composer for East High's drama club, is the only one of the Wildcats who doesn't seem to look at Troy with disdain, these days. A small, slightly amused smile tugs at Kelsi's lips.

Troy laughs dryly. "It looks that _bad_ , huh?"

"It's um… it's different," Kelsi replies. She gives him a sympathetic look.

Troy feels his chest tighten. "'Different', can be good though, right Kels?"

"Of course," she murmurs.

Suddenly filled with purpose, Troy jumps to his feet. "Kelsi, do you know where Ryan is?"

Kelsi looks somewhat taken aback. "'Ryan'?" She echoes, blinking in confusion.

"Yeah." Troy wonders if the pleading look that he gives her reflects his desperation.

"I think I saw him in the rec room-" Kelsi starts.

Troy shoots her one of his winning Troy Bolton smiles as he rushes out of the room. "Thank you so much!" He turns back to holler over his shoulder.

She flushes a light pink in response. "No problem."

While Troy is turning the corner, he runs smack into a comparatively smaller body. Reflexively, he reaches out to steady the other person, and his hands grab onto a set of lean shoulders, bringing him face to face with-

"Hey, Ryan." Troy's heart misses a beat as he takes in sky blue eyes and shining rose-tinted lips.

Pink colors Ryan's cheeks. He seems _surprised_ that Troy Bolton is actually still willing to talk to him. Yet…"Hey, Troy." His voice is light and cheery. He smiles as he addresses the brunette boy standing before him. And, his smile is… _amazing_ , as it always is.

Troy swallows. Then, he forges ahead. "I'm really sorry for snapping at you about Gabriella's mom's brownies, the other day. I wasn't in a good head space, then, and I shouldn't have taken my frustration out on you."

"It's no big deal, _really_. " Ryan gives him a reassuring smile.

All of the sudden, Troy's chest is relieved of a massive pressure that had been constricting it for too long. He can't help but break into a smile, himself. Maybe he really _will_ make things right, and fix all of the problems that he caused, while finding an identity that suits him, and possibly even score a date with Ryan in the process…!

It's at that moment that Troy realizes that he's still holding onto Ryan's shoulders. His face heating up, he takes a step back at the same time that Ryan does. While Ryan lets out an awkward but adorable laugh, Troy sheepishly rubs at the back of his neck, then slides his hands into his pants pockets.

"Um," Ryan starts, "I know that my sister hasn't exactly taken to it, but…" He peers up into Troy's eyes. His blue eyes are soft, glowing with an affectionate warmth that hasn't been directed at Troy since the start of the summer. "The eyeliner really brings out your eyes, Troy."

Troy's smile widens a bit, and the heat on his face spreads further. "Really?" At Ryan's nod of confirmation, he says, "Thanks, Ryan."

Swinging his arms in a way that Troy considers both slightly awkward and immensely endearing, and ducking his head shyly, Ryan shifts in just a tiny bit closer to Troy.

A fluttering feeling dominates Troy's heart, and while the origin of that feeling is entirely positive, the ensuing violent churning of his stomach really _isn't_. His head spinning, he staggers and blindly reaches out to brace himself against the nearest wall. He inhales, trying to prevent bile from rising up in his throat and spewing out of his mouth.

And, to keep himself from passing out.

Ryan is at Troy's side in an instant. "Troy? What's wrong?!" Perhaps Troy is imagining the audible quaver in the blond boy's light voice, and the desperation in his captivating eyes.

"I'm sorry. I just… _Shit_ , I haven't eaten anything in days." Troy chuckles derisively at himself. "That's-That's pretty stupid, huh?"

"You're _not_ stupid, Troy," Ryan murmurs leniently but firmly. No "You're crazy, Wildcat", accompanied by an admonishing smirk, like how Gabriella would have replied to such an admission.

Troy's heart skips a beat, again.

Two sets of gentle hands guide Troy upright, and as Ryan drapes one of Troy's arms across his backside to better support the athletic boy's frame, Troy notices that Kelsi has rushed to his aid, as well. A grateful smile tugs up the ends of his mouth.

"Come on. We need to get you something to eat," Ryan says quietly.

As creepy as he feels for doing so, while the three of them traverse to the kitchen, Troy concentrates on Ryan's bodily warmth, and the sweet scent of Ryan's cologne and hair- the latter smells like strawberries in a way that isn't so overbearing as to be off-putting- to get his mind off of the insistent urge to upheave his insides onto the floor.

 

 

* * *

 

The whispering and staring recommences from a handful of the kitchen staff as Troy devours a toasted turkey sandwich. Fortunately, the rest of the Wildcats are out on their breaks, because he isn't sure that he could handle an entire kitchen full of people throwing glares at him.

Troy observes Ryan giving a subtle twitch when the gossip that he's made himself over "for attention", reaches their table. Something akin to indignation darkens the male Evans twin's soft features.

Looking equally irritated, Kelsi simply shakes her head.

Troy swallows his mouthful of food and uses his tongue to double check that he doesn't have pieces of bread and lettuce sticking to his teeth before looking into the eyes of his companions and saying, "Hey. Thanks a lot, guys."

"Don't mention it," Kelsi says with a soft smile.

"I just feel bad that both of you had to take time out of your day to deal with me," Troy continues. He's more than a bit ashamed of himself for allowing his body to arrive at such a weak and helpless state that Ryan and Kelsi had to lug him over to the kitchen. He's _supposed_ to be stronger than that. He's _supposed_ to be the guy that drops everything and sprints to assist other people.

"We _all_ need help, sometimes," Ryan assures him, smiling sweetly. "There's no reason to feel bad."

Troy stares intently into Ryan's eyes, wishing that he can understand why the blond boy is so willing to be so interminably _nice_ to him. _I basically stole the lead role in the winter musical from him. Heck, we barely spoke to each other in school._ _And, yet…_ A longing sort of ache seizes his heart. Instead of saying what is on his mind, however, he asks, "How do you do it, Ryan?"

Ryan arcs one of his eyebrows inquiringly. "Do what?"

"Ignore what other people say about you. I-I mean, you're so brave."

The mere suggestion of his bravery appears to shock Ryan. "Troy, I…" He starts. His eyes move to Kelsi, who is sitting to Troy's left, and his train of thought seems to switch tracks rather hastily. Troy blinks, intrigued at the shifting of gears, but before he can find the right words to address it, Ryan lowers his eyes and murmurs, "I suppose that, as long as you're happy with the way you dress, and as long as you're comfortable in your clothes, then it's that much easier to pay no mind to what other people are saying about you."

A thick fog begins lifting in Troy's mind, and everything becomes all too clear. "You're _right_."

It's Ryan's turn to blink, obviously puzzled. "I am?"

There's no time to explain. "Thank you, Ryan!" Troy grins and excuses himself from the table with an exuberant, "See you tomorrow, okay?!"

For the rest of his shift, Troy's mind wanders back to the beautiful bashful smile that lit up Ryan's face, in response. It's easily enough to help him block out the rumors that he's taken up some troubling hobbies, and the speculation that he's "switched teams", in a decidedly _non_ -athletic sense. Honestly, though, as far as Troy is concerned, the latter isn't all that far off.

 

 

* * *

 

Jack Bolton turns on the overhead lights and gets a good look at his son's face as Troy drops into the front passenger seat of his car. "Troy… are you wearing makeup?"

Frozen by the question, Troy clenches the seatbelt, his stomach flip-flopping. He looks away and waits for his heart to stop hammering so he can gather up the courage to meet his father's eyes.

Jack leans in, his gray eyes staring with such intensity that the hairs on the back of Troy's neck stand up. "And, are those your mom's earrings in your ears?"

Troy winces at his father's tone of voice. He knew this was coming. He knew he'd have to face his dad at some point. He takes a deep breath. "Th-They're clip ons, dad," he assures his father in a low, unsteady voice.

Jack heaves a sigh. Troy can't tell whether or not his father is relieved that his boy didn't actually get his ears pierced. "You wanna tell me what's going on?"

At last, Troy raises his eyes to meet his dad's. "Remember the talk we had the other night, about me not knowing who I am, anymore?"

Jack Bolton nods warily, searching his son's face with a vaguely pained expression. "Yeah, Troy. I remember."

"Well, dad…" Troy goes on, his voice tight, "I'm trying to find out who I am."

There's a permeating silence as the words sink in. The walls of the vehicle feel like they're drawing closer, making the already confined space feel somewhat like a cage.

"Does you 'finding out who you are', involve giving up on basketball?" Jack finally asks, his intonation sharp and biting.

Troy does his best not to flinch. Of course. _Of course_ , his dad saw his bedroom, completely barren of all of the physical evidence of everything that the two of them worked so hard for. And, _of course_ his dad is rightfully pissed off, and probably more than a little interested in determining just what the hell is going through his son's head. " _No_ , dad!" Troy answers a bit more loudly than he meant to. "I just-!" He swallows, aware of tears blurring his vision. _Dial it back, Bolton!_ "I need some time to figure things out, okay?"

It almost sounds like a plea to his ears.

"Hey." Jack's eyes and inflection soften simultaneously. "I get it, Troy. I got it." He reaches over and firmly squeezes Troy's shoulder. "I was a teenage boy, too, you know?"

A hint of a smile pulls at the corners of Troy's mouth. With Ryan, Kelsi, and his dad all on his side, his transformation into a "New Troy", seems so much more attainable than it did the previous night. "Thanks for understanding, dad," he murmurs.

"Yeah." Jack returns the smile. He turns the overhead lights off. "I'm just a little worried about you, bud," he says as he switches the gear into drive, and begins maneuvering out of the main driveway at the front of the country club.

"You don't need to worry," Troy assures his father. "Things are going to start getting easier."

As their car speeds down the single highway carving through the desert region of Albuquerque, it registers with Troy that the second reassurance was intended for himself.

 

 

* * *

 

Troy shows up for work wearing a grungy-looking plaid button down, a pair of black jeans, a new layer of not as sloppy eyeliner, the ear-studs from the day before, and a carefree smile on his face. He's not at all sure how long this "goth", thing is going to last, but a part of him takes a sort of pleasure in getting to dress up like someone else. _It's sort of like theater_ , he remarks to himself. It occurs to him that maybe getting to temporarily let go of who you are in order to successfully become someone else, might be one of the draws of acting for Ryan.

Catering to Sharpay's extensive demands for her "One Woman Show", takes a lot out of anyone, as Troy unfortunately learned from experience. But, dealing with Sharpay's often over-assertiveness while also overhearing rumors circulating the hallways at school about scandalous acts committed behind closed doors that provide an explanation for why you and your domineering sister play romantic leads opposite one another in the drama club's productions…? It's a wonder to Troy that Ryan can stomach his own day to day life.

When he walks into the Lava Springs kitchen, ready for his shift, Troy feels a small twinge of relief that the whispers and murmurs have died out completely. Naturally, the lack of human noise means that everyone has returned to subjecting him to a silent treatment. Even so, he reasons that the silence is something that he can get used to.

That doesn't stop the wistful pang in his chest, however, when Chad, Zeke and Jason call over one of the other guys on the basketball team, and invite him to shoot hoops with them during their break. Troy recalls the day when he blew off plans that he'd made with the three of them to play in a two-on-two game, so he could attend the scrimmage at the University of Albuquerque gym. He apologized so many times, and Chad still called him "Bolton", because he was no longer deserving of the closeness and camaraderie that came with being on a first name basis.

Troy swallows the lump that rises in his throat, and carries his tray of cucumber sandwiches and iced tea out to the balcony.

He got what he wanted. Chad and the others aren't forcing their expectations on him, anymore… But it's not because they got the message.

It's because Troy has been replaced.

 

 

* * *

 

A line of perspiration trails down Troy's bare chest as he fires his tenth or twentieth shot at the basket in the smaller court on the other side of the country club. The ball ricochets right off of the rim. Raking in an exasperated breath, Troy runs his hands through his hair and spins around aimlessly before moving to retrieve the damn thing. He follows the ball off of the asphalt and onto the grass, to discover that it's come to a stop at the feet of an instantly recognizable slender figure with curvy hips.

"Lose something?" Ryan queries, a playful note in his voice as he peeks at Troy from behind the lowered tinted lenses of his sunglasses.

"Kind of," Troy replies with a sheepish smile. His cheeks flare with warmth as thoughts of how good Ryan looks in shades cross his mind.

Ryan removes his sunglasses very suavely, folding the temples into the collar of his polo, and stoops down to grab hold of the orange and black ball.

Troy realizes that he's eyeing the contours of the blond theater king's pert butt as Ryan's shorts stretch tightly across said pert butt while he's bent over, and delivers a mental kick to himself.

As Ryan rights himself and hands the ball over to Troy, the transfer causes their fingertips to brush together. He pulls his eyes up from where they've wandered to Troy's exposed pectorals and abdomen, and, his cheeks tinted pink, too, he fixes an intent gaze on the eyes of his addressee . "I-Is everything okay? You looked like you were having some trouble out there."

The concern in Ryan's features and in his voice is so _sincere_ , that Troy doesn't hesitate before admitting to him, "Actually, no. Everything's not exactly okay."

Ryan blinks, the corners of his mouth downturned. "Did something happen?"

Downcast, Troy lowers his eyes to the basketball in his hands. "Chad and the guys are still mad at me," he says, his throat tight and dry. "Earlier, they…" He rotates the ball a few times. "They invited someone else to fill my spot in our usual two-on-two games."

The corner of Ryan's mouth twitches, and sympathy clouds his gaze. But, before Troy can linger on why the sympathy exists, and how he's partially responsible for it, Ryan straightens up and touches Troy's shoulder softly. "You know what? It's their loss, not yours."

A slight smile tugs at Troy's mouth. "Yeah, I guess it _is_ their loss, huh?"

Ryan nods in confirmation, giving Troy a proud sort of smile.

Encouraged, Troy apprehends a way to have fun without Chad and the others. He turns to his blond companion and asks, "You up for a game of one-on-one?"

"Troy, I-I don't…" Ryan offers meekly, holding up his hands in a half-hearted protest.

"Come on, it's not that hard. I'll teach you," Troy proclaims. He flashes Ryan an encouraging grin, and he possibly employs his patented "puppy dog eyes", for good measure. "I've seen how well you can dance, Ryan. If you can do all that complicated stuff, this will be a cinch for you." He's all too conscious of the fact that what he's saying isn't merely ordinary flattery.

Ryan perks up immediately at the compliment, his radiant smile returning to his face and his eyes shining. "Alri-ight," he agrees hesitantly. "But, don't expect me to be any real competition."

Troy bounce-passes the ball back to Ryan and, much to Ryan's own astonishment, his reflexes react swiftly, allowing him to catch it. "You'll never know 'til you try," Troy says, throwing a supportive- and perhaps a bit flirtatious, too- wink Ryan's way.

After Troy buttons his grungy plaid shirt back up to a reasonably presentable state, and ensures that his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, the pair head over to the basketball court. It turns out that Ryan is every bit as perceptive and agile as Troy pegged him to be. Unsurprisingly. Once he gets the hang of making baskets, with a bit of instruction on Troy's part, and dribbling the ball without letting it get away from him, that is.

The former involves Troy holding Ryan in his arms to guide him through the proper posturing, an altogether entirely different experience than wrapping his arms around Sharpay while assisting her with her golf swing, as he was obligated to do when he still held the position of assistant golf instructor. Ryan's body fits comfortably and snugly in his arms, and his wonderful scent, coupled with the lean musculature of his backside that Troy can feel against his chest through both his own shirt and the thin, cottony material of Ryan's light-colored polo, sends tingles up and down Troy's body.

When Ryan makes his shot and there's nothing but net, his face illuminates with excitement, and Troy lets out a cheer. "Alright! See? What'd I tell you?" He proudly extends his hand for a high-five. As Ryan's hand lightly slaps his palm, their fingers wind up interlaced, and stay that way a bit longer than a standard high-five requires.

The latter, on the other hand, honestly takes a few tries, prompting both of them to have to chase the ball down several times. A discouraged Ryan apologizes, "I'm not used to working with props that bounce."

"That's okay!" Troy assures him. "Dribbling's always rough on beginners. You just need some practice."

One pursuit brings them onto the nearby tennis court in the middle of a particularly passionate match between a girl and her presumably soon to be _ex_ -boyfriend.

Troy spots the bright orange of the basketball rolling to a stop behind the guy, and recklessly dashes onto the asphalt after it.

"Troy, _look out_!" Ryan calls out suddenly, his alto-tenor pitched voice heightened with alarm.

Instantaneously, Troy heeds Ryan's advice. He lets out an exclamation of "Whoa!" and ducks down just in time to avoid being sideswiped by a specially powerful swing from the girl that creates a wicked sounding THWACK.

"Who swings like a girl **_now_** , huh?!" The feisty looking red-head challenges her trembling opponent, who slowly lowers his arms from where they were raised protectively in front of his face.

Still hunched over, Troy manages to awkwardly retrieve his and Ryan's runaway ball. He _doesn't_ manage to right himself and escape with it before being noticed by the competitive pair, who both glare at him as though he's disrupted the match of their lives.

Ryan saves Troy's behind for the second time. He nervously informs the tennis players, "Please, carry on with...with-!"

His floundering provides Troy with ample time to ensure that the basketball is secure in his grasp, and rush to assist his companion. "-with your awesome game," he helpfully chimes in right as Ryan takes on the look of a deer in the headlights. "I'm sure the outcome will be... _something_!"

Ryan nods enthusiastically.

As the players return to their showdown, Troy lightly taps the blond's shoulder to get his attention, and gestures with his head, flicking his bangs out of his eyes, in the direction of the basketball court. Ryan gets the hint with little effort. Together, they turn and begin the trek back to their area that's _thankfully_ free of projectiles being launched at lethal speeds in the direction of living things.

"Hey, thanks for the save, back there," Troy smiles gratefully at Ryan. "She could have taken my head clean off." He uses his free hand to grab at his neck for emphasis.

"I'm just glad that she _didn't_ ," Ryan remarks, clutching at his chest. "You almost gave me heart palpitations." He gives Troy a light-hearted nudge, the smile on his face detracting somewhat from the seriousness of his statement.

Troy chuckles, and instantly feels bad for doing so. Ryan was legitimately concerned for his well-being. Knowing that causes a stirring in his chest that he hasn't felt since… "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry, too. It's my fault the ball got away from us." Ryan chews at the inside of his mouth, his expression filled with remorse.

Troy's heart drops into his stomach. He decides that Ryan Evans being upset should be some kind of federal offense. "Forget about it," he murmurs, leaning in to meet the performer's eyes. "I had a great time today."

Ryan's face lights up. "Really?"

His joy is contagious. Troy breaks into a broad smile. "Yeah, really."

"Me, too," Ryan concurs readily.

They move several paces further before Troy ventures cautiously, "Ryan, uh, does your dad ever have any issues with…?"

"'With….?" Ryan's gaze flicks curiously over Troy's face, the glinting black clip-on studs on Troy's earlobes, and then pans down to his own clothes. "Oh!" He exclaims in realization, then, perhaps self-consciously, lowers his voice to a murmur as he responds, "Not really. He's actually pretty supportive of it. Of me." The start of a smile pulls at his mouth. Relief courses through Troy, and it shows on his face in the form of a reassured smile. Vance Evans gave him the impression that he was a friendly but formidable man who seemed to have a great deal of affection for his family. However, a lot of that affection appeared to be directed at his daughter, and at Troy, himself, an outsider, leaving Ryan out in the cold. The thought of Ryan being neglected by his family, as well as by his schoolmates, had been enough to make Troy's stomach clench. Thankfully, such was not the case.

"The only issue that he really has is with the way I angle my hats," Ryan resumes. Pausing, he lets out a small laugh, and swings his arms. "That's _lucky_ for me, I guess."

"I like the way you angle your hats," Troy halts with him, and lightly taps the brim of Ryan's fedora. He can feel himself drawing closer to an edge. His heart encourages him to keep going, so he takes another step into Ryan, making certain to look into the smaller boy's eyes. "I-I like being around you, Ry."

The words visibly impact Ryan; his eyes widening briefly before softening with something that generates a melting sensation in Troy's chest. He comes in closer, as well. "I... like being around you, too, Troy," he says softly. His voice is husky, _enticing_.

It's the final nudge that Troy needs. He decides to take the leap. His eyes drop to Ryan's pink lips, and he licks at his own upper lip, his breath and heart rates increasing. His grip on the basketball loosens as he concentrates on Ryan. On leaning in at the same time that Ryan does, on how soft Ryan's lips must be, and how completely, mind-blowingly _amazing_ it will feel to have Ryan's mouth on his, their bodies crushed against each other…

"Troy Bolton?" A distinctly male voice asks.

A stream of cursing floods Troy's mind. He and Ryan pull away from each other, and he's certain that his expression mirrors the bitter wistfulness filling Ryan's features. "Yeah?" Troy inquires, looking to the older though not-much-taller-than-he-is, skinny brunette owner of the interrupting voice. He zeroes in on the other male's name tag, distinguishing "Charles", out of the white letters on the rectangular black backdrop.

"Ms. Evans needs you in the music room," Charles notifies him.

A noise to express his discontentment involuntarily escapes Troy.

Ryan gives Troy a look of pity and longing so intense that it nearly causes tears to prick Troy's eyes, then turns to his employee. "Can't this wait, Charles?"

"I'm sorry Mr. Evans." Charles shrugs and appears genuinely apologetic. "Orders are orders."

Ryan lets out a scoffing sound. "Yeah. Orders are orders," he mutters, everything from his posture, to his expression and inflection, making his dismay evident.

Troy wishes that he had the time to take Ryan aside and tell him that he understands. Oh, does he understand. But, he's sure that Ryan already knows just how well he can relate to him in this regard. "See you, Ry," he murmurs with a parting nod to the male Evans twin.

"See you," Ryan echoes, his smile all but vanished.

Feeling that their farewells are unfinished, that something is missing, in a split-second, Troy leans in and brushes his lips against Ryan's soft cheek.

Ryan's initial surprise at the action is quickly displaced by a lovestruck grin that dominates his countenance.

A buoyant Troy trails behind Charles, having all but forgotten about how his friends replaced him. All thanks to Ryan.

 

 

* * *

 

"Here are your bonbons, Sharpay!" Grinning sheepishly, Zeke, dressed in his chef uniform, offers Sharpay a polished glass plate loaded with the chocolate-covered candies that has been lovingly embroidered with a garnish of whipped cream. "I made them _just_ the way you like them."

"Why, thank you, Zeke!" Sharpay chirps, her eyes glowing. She seats herself on top of the piano, earning a half-hearted eye roll from Kelsi, who is seated behind the instrument. As the blonde girl proceeds to dip three of the candies into the whipped cream border and stuff them into her mouth, Zeke stands by, an expectant grin on his face.

Troy marvels at the fact that his fellow athlete's legs aren't quaking with terror. _I would've just given Sharpay her food and then hightailed it out of there._ Intrigued, he continues to watch the scene from the doorway, his brow quirked.

Sharpay chews away with a blissful expression on her face, up to the moment that she becomes aware of Zeke's persisting presence. She swallows her mouthful of chocolate. "Uh, you're excused," she says pointedly, indicating toward the door. " _Toodles_."

Zeke lets out a dreamy sigh, his hand to his heart, and Troy soundlessly slaps the palm of his hand against his own forehead. He realizes that the taller boy is headed in his direction, though, and almost follows through on his earlier plan of hightailing it. Unfortunately, and much to his distress, he's halted in his tracks before he can move a muscle.

"Trooooy! There you are!" Sharpay exclaims at an ear-piercing dynamic.

Wincing, Troy fights off the haunting recollection of the female Evans twin dragging him to stand over an air vent, and forcing his shirt up to expose his stomach while he was incapable of stopping her. He reluctantly passes by Zeke, who uncomfortably averts his eyes, and crosses over to her, wishing that he was still out on the basketball court with her male counterpart with every step.

Kelsi discreetly shoots Troy a pitying look from her seat at the rear of the piano.

"Troy, why don't you knock off the charade?" Sharpay asks with a coy smile.

"'Charade'?" A wave of nausea washes over Troy's stomach.

"The makeup? The grungier than usual clothes?" Sharpay crinkles her nose. "Everyone knows that this isn't _you_ ", she goes on, her voice taking on a gradually increasing level of condescension. "You're _Troy Bolton_ ; East High's Wonderboy basketball hero. Not this _wannabe_ member of a subculture that glorifies death and trashy music."

Troy battles with himself to not roll his eyes at Sharpay's rude dismissal of an entire group of people. He's far from an expert on the goth culture, himself, but he was raised to respect other people's lifestyle choices. And, rock music _isn't_ garbage. More importantly, though, he feels his hackles rising at the implication of her words. He's _had it_ with other people insisting that they know him better than he knows himself. His mind goes back to what Ryan said; _As long as you're happy with the way you dress, and as long as you're comfortable in your clothes, then it's that much easier to pay no mind to what other people are saying about you._

And, Troy _is_ comfortable in his clothes. He's _happy_ with his current style, even if it is only temporary. And, like Ryan, he's not going to let anyone take that away from him.

"So, why don't you let me help you wash that ghastly makeup off, and you can go put on some clothes that actually have some _color_ , and-"

" _No_ ," Troy answers sharply.

" _Repeat_ ," Sharpay commands. Her eyes flash dangerously as she hands the plate of bonbons to Kelsi, slides off of the piano, and gets to her feet.

"How do _you_ know that this isn't me, Sharpay?" Troy fires back. "People can change."

" _Clearly_ ," she retorts, her eyes narrowing indignantly. "You never had such a nasty attitude, before."

Troy looks to Kelsi, who pulls a frown at Sharpay behind the blonde girl's back. _"Nasty attitude?"_ Validity of that claim, aside, he has an unexpected epiphany that sets his heart racing. _Maybe, it's because I never stood up for myself, before._

" _What_ , did you and Ryan both decide to PMS this summer, or something?" Sharpay scoffs.

Charged by adrenaline, newly gained self-confidence, and joy at the news that Ryan, who Sharpay had gone so far as to physically push around during one of their performances that Troy had been an unwilling audience for, earlier that summer, _stood up to his sister_ , Troy smirks. "You know, Sharpay, I'll take being compared to Ryan as a compliment."

Sharpay's jaw drops open in a wounded gasp.

"And, I think I've gotten better at putting on eyeliner," Troy adds. He catches Kelsi's eye and she beams back at him, her blue-green eyes shining beyond the lenses of her glasses.

As Troy exits the room, feeling as though he's just scaled a mountain and is standing at the top, overlooking the valleys far below and breathing in the fresh, chilled mountain air, he overhears Sharpay asking Kelsi for the bonbons.

 

 

* * *

 

"Mom. Dad." Troy raises his eyes from the pasta on his fork.

Jack and Lucille Bolton peer up from the conversation they're having over their own plates of grilled chicken, garlic noodles, and green beans, to give their son interrogative glances.

"Yes, Troy?" Lucille ventures.

"…I'm bisexual." It's invigorating to say it out loud, to get his sexual persuasion out there in the open. Nevertheless, Troy braces himself for impact. He prepares for a violent uproar, to be struck with either a blunt instrument, or the back of one of his parents' hands, to possibly even be thrown out of the house with only the clothing on his back.

Lucille jolts, her gray eyes dilated, and Jack almost chokes on a mouthful of green beans, which brings both his wife and son rushing to his aid. But, by the end of the night, they seem to have reconciled themselves with Troy's sexuality on the unspoken condition that, no matter the gender of the person that he ultimately ends up with, they still have the pleasure of getting to be grandparents.

Troy hugs his mother and father tightly, and is sure to count his blessings before he flops onto his bed that night.

 

 

* * *

 

"One, two three," Ryan counts off. He points to Kelsi, cuing her in.

Smiling, Kelsi lifts her hands and begins to play a light-hearted, moving sort of tune. She sings along quietly, her sweet soprano just audible above the chords sounding from the piano; _La la la la_

_La la_

_La la la la_

_La_

Ryan opens his mouth, and immediately claims ownership of the song, his light voice softly lilting and his hips swaying as he sings: _You sit there in your_

_Heartache_

_Waiting on some beautiful girl to_

_Save you from your old ways_

 

_You pray for forgiveness_

_'Cause watch out, here she comes_

He wiggles his hips and throws Troy a flirty wink.

Troy beams from where he's seated on the sidelines in the rec room at Lava Springs. _This_ kind of singing, he can get behind. Not the flashiness and over the top usages of props and pyrotechnics of Sharpay's performances. No. Just two friends, one of them masterfully turning out beautiful music on an instrument, uncaring that her voice is lacking in power and volume as she provides the backup vocals, the other shining in his element as he effortlessly belts out the melody, his voice pure and refined by years of practice, having fun together.

_I don't look a thing like_

_She does_ , Ryan resumes.

_But I, talk like a gentle soul,_

_Like you imagined when_

_You were young_

 

_La la la la_

_La La La la la la_

_La_ , Kelsi vocalizes.

As the song picks up, Ryan's choreography grows more elaborate. He adds in twirls, shimmies, ball changes, body and shoulder rolls, and even something that Troy faintly recalls Ryan dubbing a "jazz square", at the auditions for the winter musical. All the while, his eyes sparkle fiercely, and Troy's smile doesn't leave his face.

Ryan Evans is meant for stardom. There isn't a doubt in Troy's mind about that.

Suddenly, Ryan dances his way over to Troy and takes hold of his hand. Bewildered, Troy looks from Ryan to Kelsi. "Guys, I can't-" he starts. He sees the encouragement glimmering in their eyes, however, and gives in.

Ryan's skills as a choreographer are undeniable as he guides Troy through each complex maneuver, never missing a beat, himself. Troy admits to himself that Ryan is, unexpectedly easy to dance with. Especially compared to Sharpay. He makes Troy feel confident in his own abilities as a dancer. He even gives Troy the courage to take his hands and briefly waltz with him, an action which brings a radiant smile to Ryan's lovely face that Troy wholeheartedly reciprocates.

It's not shooting hoops with the guys. There's no sense of friendly competition, no whooping and hollering, no stinging high-fives and no hearty back-slapping to accompany the thrill of victory. But the most important thing: the feeling of closeness, the camaraderie, _is_ there as Troy takes in the smiling faces of two kids that he once passed in the hallway at East High without a second glance. He lets himself forget about Chad, about basketball, about being East High's Golden Boy. For now, he's just Troy Bolton, a regular teenage boy hanging out with two friends who love singing as much as he does.

 _Well, one_ friend _,_ a voice in his head reminds him.

The raw passion glinting in Ryan's gaze, backing every syllable sung by that melodious alto-tenor as his eyes are on Troy, causes goosebumps to break out on Troy's arms, and a profound emotion to stir deep within his heart. It almost gives him reason to believe that the song is directed at _him_. _But, that's crazy, right?_ He asks himself as he spins Ryan out.

He receives no answer.

 

_You sit there in your_

_Heartache_

_Waiting on some beautiful girl to_

_Save you from your old bad ways_

Sidling in, Ryan walks his fingers up Troy's chest before lightly flicking him on the end of the nose as he sings, _Pray for forgiveness, boy_

_Watch out, here I come!_

 

Troy's mouth hangs open in awe. All of the sudden, things have shifted. Ryan Evans is now the center of Troy Bolton's universe. His heart beats for Ryan. He only has eyes for Ryan. Ryan might as well be magnetized, and Troy is a tiny little bolt that can't resist the pull. He watches, spellbound, as the blond performer brings the song to a dazzling finish.

 

_And I don't look a thing like_

_She does_

_But I, talk like a gentle soul_

_More than you'll ever know_

 

_I never look a thing like_

_She does_

_But I, talk like a gentle soul_

_More than you'll ever know_

 

_When you were young_

 

_Like when you_

_Were young_

 

_I said, "I'll never look a thing_

_Like she does_

_But I, talk like a gentle soul_

_More than you'll ever know_ "

 

Recovering his composure, Troy grins proudly and breaks into a round of applause.

Ryan beckons to Kelsi and she steps away from the piano to join him as they link hands and dip into a bow.

"Woo!" Troy cheers, pumping his fist. "That was _fantastic_!"

Kelsi smiles shyly. "Thank you, Troy."

"Thank you," Ryan inputs humbly. "Excellent job, Kelsi." He smiles at the dainty composer, who flushes. "And, you were pretty fantastic, yourself," he adds, beaming at the taller boy.

Kelsi nods to confirm Ryan's statement, leaving Troy with no other option but to smile bashfully and accept the compliment.

As Kelsi collects her sheet music, Ryan dabs at his neck with a towel that he folded up and placed near a potted plant in Troy's corner of the room.

"That was a lot of fun," Troy says, a touch incredulous at his honesty.

"I'm glad to hear you thought so." Ryan's face lights up, and Troy is kind of in love with the notion that he's responsible for it.

Troy's mouth gets ahead of him. "Ryan, I really am sorry about the talent show, and Sharpay, and-"

"I know," Ryan murmurs gently. His eyes cloud with an unreadable emotion before he seems to regain his poise. He stows the towel away and shuffles his feet excitedly. "I have something for you, Troy."

Troy blinks, and shakes his head as what Ryan said registers. "Ryan, you don't have to-"

"Here you go. I thought this might be helpful." Ryan extends a blue Ipod with a pair of earbuds wrapped around it to Troy.

Troy's protests die in his throat. The corner of his mouth twitches, and he's uncertain of how to react. Surprise and joy are warring with each other inside of him.

Ryan ducks his head shyly when no response comes, and clarifies, "J-Just in case you're still having trouble not paying other people's thoughts any mind." He pauses and bites at his lower lip. "And, don't worry about the cost, o-or anything. My family has plenty of money to spare."

"Ryan, thank you!" Troy finally chokes out. He smiles and gratefully takes the device, intentionally letting his hand linger against Ryan's for a couple seconds longer than necessary.

Ryan blushes. "Feel free to fill it with what my sister regards as 'trashy music', if you want."

Troy nods, letting out a small laugh. "I will." His eyes remain trained on Ryan's. He hopes that Ryan can read just how much this, and everything else that he's done, means to him.

"You guys coming?" Kelsi inquires, standing at the doorway, a knowing smile on her face.

"Yeah, be right there, Kels!" Troy informs her. "So," he begins, turning back to Ryan with a playful grin, "has my eyeliner technique improved at all?"

"I see a definite improvement," Ryan confirms, smiling proudly. "But, I'd be more than happy to give you a hand, if you ever need it."

"I'll definitely keep that in mind." Troy touches his head to Ryan's. On their way out the door, both of them pretend not to notice when their hands brush together, and briefly intertwine.

 

 

* * *

 

En route back to the kitchen, Troy is aware of a pair of eyes burning the side of his face. Taylor McKessie, Gabriella's best friend and Chad's girlfriend, is glowering at him, clipboard in hand, her brown eyes hard, cold, and unimpressed.

Before, Troy would have shrunk away, his stomach twisting with guilt.

Now, he shrugs the dirty look right off and continues on his way. He knows that he has nothing to be ashamed of.

 

 

* * *

 

Patting his hair dry with a fluffy towel while stepping out of the shower, Troy catches sight of his reflection. He wipes the fog off of the glass, and studies the face in the mirror intently. Clear blue eyes… tanned skin… He notices that his hair is growing out, again, lighter natural brown tips showing through the dark dye.

He grabs his phone off of the counter and looks up Ryan's name in the contacts list. **How do u feel about coloring hair?** He types out and hits "send".

As he waits for a reply, his eyes pass over the barely visible freckles on his nose and cheeks, and the full curve of his lips. It's the same face, all right. Yet… He chews the inside of his mouth contemplatively. Something has changed. He just can't quite put a finger on it, at the moment.

His ringtone signals the arrival of a text. Heart missing a beat, Troy snatches up the phone and reads the message that he was hoping for; "Ryan Evans messaged you", accompanied by " ** _I'm ready whenever you are_**. :)".

 **Awesome! :D** , Troy texts back.

 ** _Looking to go lighter or darker?_** Ryan asks a minute or so afterward.

Troy looks back to his reflection. I've _changed,_ he determines. _I finally have an idea of who I am._ He eyes the lighter tips carefully before turning to the keypad with his response.

After combing his hair out, tugging on a tank top, and slipping into a pair of black sweat pants, Troy takes his new Ipod and goes to the family computer. The Noisettes's cover of The Killers's, "When You Were Young", is the first song that he downloads, followed by "Highway Song", by System Of A Down, and a series of other "trashy", rock songs.

 

 

* * *

 

Troy air guitars and lip-synchs to Green Day's "Know Your Enemy", while washing dishes in the essentially empty kitchen at the country club. Having music to listen to has really helped him to block out the glares, the staring, and the whispers. He rinses the soapy suds off of his hands before adjusting the speaker in his right ear, then returns to scrubbing at a tough stain on the glassware that he theorizes to be either ketchup or dried brown mustard. The song begins to pick back up after the bridge, and a _pft_ of laughter becomes audible that isn't part of the track.

Stunned, Troy quickly towels off his hands, pauses the song, and removes his earbuds. He whirls around to find Chad Danforth dressed in his caddying uniform, and eyeing him warily.

"So, is this the New Troy Bolton?" Chad asks.

Troy almost forgets how to breathe from shock. He swallows nervously, then reminds himself that Chad's right. He _is_ a new Troy, now. Ryan helping him color his hair later that evening is merely the final physical phase of his transformation. "You could say that," he replies, his voice full and certain.

Chad nods, taking the confirmation into account, then takes a step forward. "Listen, Troy…" He sighs heavily. "I was _wrong_. Evan- _Ryan_ told us all about how you convinced Sharpay to let us perform in the show."

Troy's eyes widen with surprise and his heart misses a beat. _Ryan…?!_

"You… You were trying to go after a scholarship," Chad continues, "and instead of supporting you, instead of giving you the benefit of the doubt with that whole 'Sharpay thing', I acted like a complete dick, because I was jealous of the perks you were getting." He lowers his voice, his brown eyes filled with shame and regret. "I'm sorry."

Troy's eyes are moist. "Hey. Water under the bridge, man," he assures his bushy-haired best friend, just daring to hope that things can be okay between them, again.

"You mean it?" Hope shines in Chad's eyes.

Troy nods. "'course. I mean, we're brothers, right?"

Chad smiles. "From another mother."

Sniffling, Troy moves in and embraces Chad, patting the other boy's broad backside. A gaping vacancy in his life has been refilled.

"Aw, dude. Your hands are still wet," Chad groans in mock disgust. Troy laughs. Good old Chad.

 

 

* * *

 

Ryan answers the door to his room at the resort. He's wearing a navy blue t-shirt with the words "New York", on it, and a pair of light gray sweat pants that flatter his curves. It's a bit different than his usual attire, but he seems relaxed, nonetheless.

Troy feels a twinge in his heart and somewhere in his lower body at the sight of him.

Ryan's blue eyes light up as he spots his guest. "Hey, Troy!"

"Hey." Troy raises his hand in a wave.

"I've got everything prepared." Ryan smiles and claps his hands together.

A high, girlish laugh comes from the interior of the room.

Ryan tenses.

"Um, who is that?" Troy asks, his blood running cold.

The corners of Ryan's mouth fall into a frown. He leans in to murmur, "Shar found out about my plans for the evening, so she and her gal pals are sitting in." Stepping aside, he opens the door wider, allowing Troy to peer in at the four girls.

Sharpay is seated on Ryan's bed, wrapped up in a pink robe and sipping from a glass that contains a hopefully _non_ alcoholic beverage. Her tiny Yorkie, Boi, is curled up beside her, wrapped up in a similar pink doggie get-up. One of the girls, a blonde, is sitting on the floor doing her red-headed friend's hair, and the third girl is perched on a chair, flipping uninterestedly through the pages of a what appears to be a sports magazine titled _Fabuloso!_. Their outfits are also, eerily enough, all varying shades of pink.

"That won't be a problem, will it?" Ryan asks, his brows knitting. "I can ask them to leave."

Troy pushes aside his disappointment that it won't be just him and Ryan hanging out together. "No, Ry. It's cool." He squeezes the petite boy's shoulder reassuringly. "I know you'll protect me," he adds with a mischievous smile, only partially joking.

Even still, it's enough to bring Ryan's spirits back up. He gestures invitingly to Troy, declaring, "After you," and the athlete enters the room.

Troy's eyes sweep over the light blue and lavender color scheme, the full body mirror, the double bed, at least twice the size of his bed at home, the dresser, and the other various furnishings, such as posters of musicals and decorative talent show flyers. Overall, the room is stylish and sophisticated, exactly what he would have expected Ryan's room to be like. He feels a trill of delight as he notices the Star Dazzle trophy that Sharpay awarded her brother sitting proudly on display on the top of Ryan's book shelf. "Hi, Troy," Sharpay greets him somewhat stiffly around her straw.

Troy nods to her. "Sharpay."

"Troy, this is Emma, Jackie, and Lea," Ryan gestures to each girl successively; the blonde, the dark-haired girl, and the red-head.

"Hi," Troy says with a smile. Despite watching the girls prance around onstage with Ryan and Sharpay, and performing with them alongside Sharpay, himself, he had never been formally introduced to the trio.

"Hi, Troy!" Emma grins, sighing dreamily as she styles Lea's hair into pigtails.

Lea wiggles her fingers in a friendly wave at Troy, then chastises Emma, "Could you not pull so hard?"

Jackie waves as well, her brown eyes warm as she sets aside the sports magazine and picks up an issue of _Rolling Stone_.

"Take a seat right here, please," Ryan says, indicating a pile of towels spread protectively on the floor.

"Ryan!" Sharpay shrieks out of nowhere, making Troy jump. "Those better not be the _good_ towels!"

"They're already stained, Sis." Ryan gives a frustrated shake of his head, and reaches out to touch Troy's shoulder soothingly.

Troy shoots him a grateful look. He takes a deep breath and sits down in the designated area, folding his legs. While watching Ryan put on the gloves to safeguard his hands from any potential staining, Troy silently expresses relief that he's clad in a shirt that he doesn't particularly prize. "Have you ever colored your hair, before?" He asks, somewhat anxious, but also sincerely curious.

Sharpay speaks before Ryan gets the chance to make a sound. "And risk losing my perfect natural blonde? Of course not! When I want to change things up, I go to my _professional_ stylist to get highlights."

Ryan rolls his eyes affectionately. He moves in behind Troy, and begins pouring out the cool, slick, color-stripping agent on Troy's dark brown locks. "I dyed my hair black for a play, before," he answers. He's without the usual newsboy cap or fedora to conceal his hair, and the gentle coiffing of his bangs looks really good on him.

Troy can also tell that the dye job back to a light blonde was flawless. "I'm in good hands, then," he says, relaxing into Ryan's solicitous massaging of the gel into his scalp. Soon, Ryan switches to a fine-tooth plastic comb, and he needs no reminder to be careful as he ensures that the stripping agent is evenly spread to every strand of hair. For some time, Troy loses himself in the repetitive caressing of the comb, and the sweet sound of Ryan humming quietly along to "Breathe", by Michelle Branch. He's almost drowsy, largely due to working a hectic shift and the emotional ride of his reunion with Chad, and the sense of security that Ryan will handle everything has his eyes falling closed periodically.

"Did you see the unsightly swimsuit cover Mrs. Gilmore was wearing, today?" Emma pipes up suddenly.

Troy jolts, his eyes opening wide.

"It was _tragic_ , wasn't it?" Sharpay sighs dramatically. "I swear, the poor woman must be color-blind. That's the third time this week she's partnered hot pink with fluorescent yellow."

"Well, honey, not everyone has your immaculate sense of color-coordination," Jackie contributes fondly from her chair.

Sharpay, obviously flattered, smiles and flips her hair over her shoulder.

"You know, Mrs. Hoffenfeffer's sock puppet is still angry at you for never letting her win an award, Shar," Ryan says.

Troy bites back a laugh.

"That creepy little sweat sock better let go of that grudge, unless it wants to become kindling for the next club bonfire."

Ryan laughs softly.

Huffing, Sharpay sets down her glass, only to realize that it's empty. "Oh, Emma!" She calls over in a sugary tone. "Would you be a dear and fetch me another _limonade_?"

Emma's eyes dart around the room, and she appears to struggle to keep her smile in place as she gets to her feet. "Sure thing, Sharpay!"

"Alrighty. We just have to let it sit, now," Ryan tells Troy. He removes the chemical-saturated gloves and pats Troy's shoulder, then stands up to discard the pieces of plastic.

Lea seizes the opportunity to scoot in toward Troy. "So, how close are you and Ryan?" She whispers conspiratorially.

"Oh, um…!" Troy exclaims, his heart skipping a beat. His reaction draws Sharpay's attention, and he immediately reels it in. "We're pretty close, you know," he whispers to Lea. "He's-" He looks up at Ryan and says adoringly, "He's really _incredible_."

Lea seems saddened by this news. "Aww," she sighs quietly. "All the cute, nice boys are always either into Sharpay, or gay."

Troy gives her a strained smile, unsure of how to respond.

Sharpay's phone chimes several times with incoming messages.

"Zeke?" Ryan asks his sister, his eyebrows raised.

"And Javier. _And_ Kelsi." Sharpay picks up her phone and reads the screen. She lets out a gasp. "How _dare_ he go on a Starbucks run without me?!" Her lower lip protrudes in a pout.

Boi shifts to rest his head on his paws, giving a tiny whimper.

"All that caffeine's bad for you, Sis," Ryan chides Sharpay light-heartedly.

Sharpay holds up her hand, palm facing her brother. "Ryan, _please_. Don't feed me mother's New Age BS."

Seeing the Evans twins interacting with each other produces a small pang in Troy's chest. The closest thing that he has to a sibling is Chad. There is no blood relation between them. He'll never know what it's like to have a blood-related sibling that he shares a special connection with. He doesn't linger on this brief sadness, though. Growing up with Chad, all of the adventures that they had together, all of the experiences they shared, is, in Troy's mind, every bit as awesome as having an actual brother.

Bored with yet another magazine, Jackie cranks the radio up and Aly and AJ's "Potential Break-Up Song", fills the room.

"I _love_ this song!" Sharpay squeals.

"Sharpay, come on-!" Ryan starts.

Whatever else he meant to say is lost as Lea and Jackie follow Sharpay's lead, bombastically singing out:

_It took too long_

_It took too long_

_It took too long for you_

_To call back_

 

_And normally, I_

_Would just forget that_

_Except for the fact,_

_It was my birthday_

_My stupid birthday_

 

Boi yelps, hiding his face in his tiny paws.

"Wanna go get lemonade?" Ryan almost shouts to be heard over the three girls. He slips into a pair of flip-flops.

"Yes, _please_!" Troy practically jumps to his feet in his keenness to follow Ryan out the door.

 

 

* * *

 

After stopping to rinse his hair out in one of the ritzy bathrooms, Troy has a momentary freak out over just how _light_ the stripper made his hair. Blond looks fantastic on the Evans twins, but he isn't exactly very confident in _his_ ability to pull it off. Ryan calms him down, however, assuring him, "Troy, it's okay. That's _supposed_ to happen."

Newly cool and collected, Troy says, "I don't know what I'd do without you, Ry," earning a sad sort of smile from his companion, and follows Ryan to the kitchen to get lemonade.

They pass Emma carrying Sharpay's limonade on their way down. "I might have gotten _lost_ ," she informs them with a suspicious laugh.

They watch her go and once she's out of earshot, Troy whispers to Ryan, "I take it she didn't get lost."

Ryan smiles tightly. "No, I don't believe she did." The pair arrive at the kitchen. Ryan pours Troy a glass of classic lemonade and a glass of pink lemonade for himself.

"Thanks," Troy says with a smile.

"No problem." Ryan returns the smile and sips from his glass.

"You know," Troy muses after gulping down about half of his drink, and surprising himself with his thirst, "I never would have imagined my summer would end up like this."

"Mm," Ryan murmurs noncommittally, his eyes clouding despite the smile on his face.

Troy intercepts the negative thoughts before they overtake Ryan's brain. He wraps an arm around the smaller boy. "Things kind of have a way of turning out better than you expected, though."

"Yeah, they do, don't they?" Ryan leans into the embrace, and Troy can feel him trembling slightly.

Concern rushes into Troy's heart. "Hey. What's wrong, Ry?"

Ryan pulls away. "Nothing. I just-! Troy, I…" He's breathing hard, and a mist of tears is forming over his eyes.

Troy's heart wrenches painfully. _Why do people keep pulling away from me? What am I doing_ wrong _?_ "Ryan, what is it?" He asks desperately.

"I'm sorry." Ryan chokes out. He steps forward and, timidly reaching out, his index finger curled, he drags his knuckle caressingly down Troy's cheek.

Troy stands immobile, stunned and confused. One part of him wants to wrap his arms around the petite blond and never let go. The other part just wants to know what he has to do to make everything okay for Ryan. Ryan, who stayed by him and worked so hard to make everything all right for him, even after everyone else deserted him. Sweet, beautiful, nice smelling, soft-skinned, graceful, awkward, adorable, insightful… **_Ryan_**.

Who Troy loves so much, it takes his breath away.

Ryan draws in a shaky gasp, and his trembling begins to subside. He appears to have recovered from his lapse of self-control, or whatever that was. "W-We need to finish coloring your hair, okay?" He communicates to the soon-to-be-brunette-once-again, his voice low and tremulous.

"Okay," Troy whispers, because a whisper is all that he can manage.

 

 

* * *

 

Ryan locks the bathroom door in his room at the resort. After fiercely fending Troy off from Sharpay's snickering and the stares of Emma, Jackie, and Lea at the sight of the athlete's temporarily blond mop, he leniently applies Vidal Sassoon's Light Golden Brown hair dye to Troy's scalp. "Y-Your hair is really soft," he murmurs dotingly.

"Thank you," Troy leans into Ryan's touch, his heart still in his throat.

"I'm sorry about my sister and her friends," Ryan relays, his voice quavering a bit with contrition.

Troy suspects that there's more left to be said, but he goes ahead and replies warmly, "Didn't I say earlier that I knew you'd protect me?"

A tiny smile quirks up the ends of Ryan's mouth. Then he goes very still and lets out a short, penitent laugh. "I could have done a better job."

The words send a shock through Troy's system, and his heart twists with a mixture of misery, bewilderment, and _need_ for everything to be all right, again. This time, he has no idea how to respond.

He emerges from the bathroom about forty minutes later, his chest lighter as he combs his fingers through his now brunette again, hair. To his shock, Sharpay's three girl friends are standing inches away from him, as though they were patiently waiting to see the results of Ryan's effort.

"Ooooh," Jackie marvels, sizing Troy up with a hand on her hips.

"Aaaaahhh!" Emma gasps, a big grin on her face.

"Love it!" Lea exclaims, delightedly clasping her hands together.

Sharpay pushes her way between the girls, and Troy immediately recoils. Her brown eyes feel like they're burning every centimeter of his body that they pass over. Finally, she makes her judgment, a satisfied smirk curling her lips. "This color looks _fabulous_ on you."

"Um, thank you," Troy says tightly. He hasn't forgotten her adamance that she knew what suited him better than he did, and is hesitant to take a compliment from her at face value.

As Emma, Jackie, and Lea voice their agreement, Sharpay turns to her brother. "Good job, Ryan."

Caught off guard by the praise, at first Ryan simply blinks, his eyes wide. He recovers himself, however, and breaks into a smile. "Thank you, Shar." Sharpay reciprocates the smile until another song comes on the radio and steals her attention. She hears about five seconds of the opening instrumental, and gasps. Flailing her arm, she signals for everyone to be quiet. "This is my _jam_ , girls!"

Troy and Ryan meet each other's eyes, and, as if they read each other's thoughts, quickly head over to the door. Ryan steps into the hallway and shuts his door behind him to block out the girls' raucous singing. "Do you have a ride home?" He asks.

"Yeah. My mom's picking me up." Troy's eyes fall to his feet. He's afraid to say something to compel Ryan to break into a panic a second time. He longs for easiness, the closeness, the feeling of comfort that he had confiding in the male Evans twin. "Thank you so much, Ryan. I really appreciate everything that you've done for me." His heart constricts his throat.

"It's no big deal," Ryan says, shifting his weight. Although it sounds more like, _"I'd do anything for you"_. He adds, his voice soft and his eyes teeming with affection. "My sister's right. That color looks wonderful on you. I-It's summery and warm… Like you are."

Slowly, a smile plays on Troy's lips.

 

_I'm Miss Sugar Pink_

_Liquor, liquor lips_

_Hit me with your sweet love_

_Steal me with a kiss_ , Sharpay's distinctive voice slips through the thick barrier standing between her and the two boys.

_I'm Miss Sugar Pink_

_Liquor, liquor lips_

_I'm gonna be your Bubblegum bitch_

 

Troy bites down on the inside of his lower lip in frustration. "Damn it," he breathes out.

Ryan looks back at the door, his expression a combination of despairing and incredulous.

Troy is right there with him.

His attention back on the boy in front of him, Ryan takes a steadying breath and begins, "I'm really, really sorry for freaking out on you, earlier. You didn't do anything wrong, Troy. And, after Gabriella, you must have…" He lowers his eyes to the floor, his face white, and his hands shaking. "I-I was just…!" His voice cracks as he trails off, and Troy feels his heart wrench.

Yeah…. _Gabriella_.

Ryan's chest shudders as he draws in shallow, rapid breaths like he's about to lose control of his emotions, and wants desperately to keep himself together. He raises his gaze to meet Troy's, and despite his efforts, there are tears swimming in his sky blue eyes. "I know it's _selfish_ , but I just don't want this moment, this _summer_ , to be all we have," he says in a near whisper.

"Ryan." Troy moves in and takes hold of the blond's hand.

Ryan sniffles. He wipes his tears away with his free appendage.

Staring into Ryan's eyes, Troy speaks directly from his heart. "I don't know where either of us will be ten years down the road, but right now, I want to be with _you_. Not Gabriella, or anyone else. That's not going to change just because the weather starts cooling down, and we have to go back to school."

His words take effect. Hope shines in Ryan's eyes. "Are you sure?" Ryan asks leniently.

" _Yes_ ," Troy affirms unwaveringly. "I'm one hundred and ten percent sure. And, if someone at East High doesn't like us being together," he finishes confidently, "they can go fuck themselves. "

A mild laugh escapes Ryan, and his smile reemerges as he squeezes Troy's hand.

Troy smiles back, willing to believe that he's said the right words. That he's not going to drive away his dearest friend.

"I love this Troy." Ryan leans in, his eyes glowing softly as he studies the brunette's face. "He seems comfortable in his own skin." He wraps his arms around Troy, and buries his face in the athlete's neck where he says quietly, lovingly, "And, he doesn't take anyone's bullshit."

Blissful tingles shoot through Troy's body from head to foot. He hugs Ryan back tightly and rests his cheek against the smaller boy's soft blond hair. "Yeah. Me, too."

 

 

* * *

 

“'You really shouldn’t do that to people," I criticized. "It’s hardly fair."  
"Do what?"  
"Dazzle them like that – she’s probably hyperventilating in the kitchen right now."  
He seemed confused.  
"Oh come on," I said dubiously. "You have to know the effect you have on people."  
He tilted his head to one side, and his eyes were curious. "I dazzle people?"  
"You haven’t noticed? Do you think everybody gets their way so easily?"  
He ignored my questions. "Do I dazzle you?"  
"Frequently," I admitted.'" Kelsi sighs reverently, and carefully closes the pages of her copy of Stephenie Meyer's _Twilight_. She's been reading excerpts of it throughout their lunch break, while Troy polishes off a cheeseburger and fries. Troy also requested that a strawberry milkshake be sent to a certain pretty blond boy with curvy hips, an adorable overbite, and a fondness for hats. "Isn't it wonderful?" Kelsi asks.

"It's _something_ , all right." Troy replies, putting forth his best effort not to burst out laughing at the overblown prose. _"Do I dazzle you?"_ Seriously _?! This is the series everyone's raving about?_

"Later, Bella finds out that Edward has been sneaking into her bedroom to watch her sleep, because, despite his fear that, with his burning desire to drink her blood, he might end up killing her, he just can't stay away from her. It's really sweet!" Kelsi elaborates, her eyes sparkling as she gushes over the teen romance novel.

Troy digests that information and cocks his head, blinking. "'Sweet'? Um… That's not exactly the term I'd use, Kels."

Before he can go on, a familiar voice calls over to him. "Yo! Troy!"

Turning at once, Troy and Kelsi both find Chad, Zeke, and Jason standing at the door, waiting hopefully. "You up for a game, man?" Chad asks.

Exhilarated at the invitation, Troy looks to Kelsi and she smiles encouragingly. He views this as a cue to get up and join the three guys.

A warm feeling of belonging washes over Troy as Chad places a hand on his shoulder and says, "Welcome back, Captain."

 

 

* * *

 

Troy stealthily approaches Ryan as the blond is reading in the lobby. He checked to make sure that his eyeliner wasn't smudged, and that his hair was laying right, first, of course. There's a downpour outside, and the staff at Lava Springs are a bit short-handed. Chad, Jason, Martha Cox, the curly-haired brunette brainiac with a love for hip-hop dancing, and a majority of the Wildcats were no-shows. Luckily for Troy, Mr. Fulton, and the other employees who bothered to show up regardless of the weather, very few of the members and guests are willing to partake in outdoor activities on the muddy grounds, and the workload has been light, allowing Troy to take an early break. "Whatcha reading?"

Ryan swivels in his chair to meet Troy with a warm smile. " _The Lover's Dictionary_ ," he replies, helpfully displaying the book's surprisingly innocuous cover that depicts a word mosaic in the shape of a heart.

Troy returns the smile. A part of him expected that a book with such a title would advertise its contents with mildly pornographic images. "'Dictionary', huh?" His interest is piqued. "What word are you on?"

"'Juxtaposition'," Ryan reads off of the page in a clear voice. "'Noun. It scares me how hard it is to remember life before you'." His voice falters a bit. "I can't even make comparisons anymore, because my memories of that time have all the depth of a photograph'." Troy can detect a faint quaver to Ryan's steady pitch, and he gulps. "'It seems foolish to play games of better and worse. It's simply a matter of _is_ and _is no longer_ '," Ryan finishes. A shaky laugh leaves him. "That's um…"

"That's pretty deep," Troy states with an uneven laugh of his own.

"Yeah. The whole book is like that. It's a potent piece of writing." As Ryan flicks quickly through the book's pages, the awkwardness of the preceding moment leaves him. A melancholy overtakes his features. He sets the book aside and glances toward the glass panes in the doors at the entrance, where he proceeds to watch the rain fall.

His brows knitting, Troy leans in to watch, as well. His gaze moves from the little splashes the drops create as they hit the pavement and the tops of parked cars, to the face of his… friend?… "You okay?" He asks gently.

"Hm?" Ryan seems to stir, as if he slipped into a daydream. "Oh, I'm fine." He smiles and brushes off any remaining worries with a flick of his wrist. "Rainy days just tend to make me a bit downhearted."

"Rainy days can be fun," Troy assures him, slipping an arm around Ryan's shoulders.

Ryan arcs a neatly groomed eyebrow at him.

"I'm serious." Troy promises, smiling sincerely. He affectionately nudges Ryan's cheek with his nose. "Have you ever tried dancing in the rain?"

Shaking his head, his heart-melting smile returning, Ryan answers, "I can't say that I have."

Troy's eyes widen at the affirmation. "No way! A complete knockout like you?" It's unbelievable. Any guy, _Or gir_ l, Troy reminds himself, thinking back to Gabriella, would be so lucky as to have the opportunity to spend time with, let alone _dance with_ Ryan.

Pink tints Ryan's cheeks. "Oh, Troooy."

"Well then, now it's just a matter of finding you a partner," Troy goes on, grinning mischievously.

"That might prove to be pretty difficult," Ryan says, his words accompanied by a wistful hint to his inflection.

"Really?" Troy asks. "I don't think so… You've already got one right here."

Ryan gets it. A tiny sound reminiscent of a muffled sob comes from him. He scoots over on the chair, giving Troy room to sit beside him, and nuzzles into the athletic boy's shoulder when Troy does so.

Troy wonders if Ryan can hear his heart beating slightly faster, and feel the ecstatic goosebumps prickling the hair on his arms. "Ry…" he ventures. He's free falling now, and prays that Ryan won't pull away, this time. "Do you wanna go see a movie with me tomorrow? My dad and I have just about finished up repairs on the old truck, and-"

Ryan looks up into Troy's eyes, the action knocking his hat askew. His eyes are luminous with what Troy at last recognizes as _love_. "I would absolutely _love_ to go to the movies with you, Troy."

There's Troy's safety net.

He has a _date_. He has a date with _Ryan Evans_. The urge to jump around, cheering and pumping his fist like a mad man is strong, but Troy settles for a nod and a grin. "Awesome," he says.

"Awesome," Ryan agrees.

Troy locks eyes with Ryan and falls into the depths of those alluring sky-colored pools. Deeper… deeper…

The next thing he knows, a pair of lips that taste like strawberry lip gloss are pressed to his, strong but tender hands are cradling his face, and a skinny torso is up against his solid, sturdy frame. He closes his eyes, feeling as though his heart could explode. A contented moan rises up in Troy's throat. He places his hands on the outer curves of Ryan's hips, and inclines toward the slender body that has shifted into his lap. Ryan sighs indulgently into the kiss, sending shivers of satisfaction along every nerve in Troy's body, and Troy savors every aroma, every flavor, every sensation that is unmistakably _Ryan_.

At last, they part for air. Troy's eyes flutter open. He catches Ryan's eye and nuzzles their noses together, feeling happiness radiating off of Ryan's skin. _Holy shit….!_ Breathless, the two of them trade smiles.

"Mr. Evans!"

In unison, Troy and Ryan both jump and turn to see Mr. Fulton standing over them.

"I kindly ask that you refrain from public displays of affection with employees in the lobby," the disgruntled older man says, using a pleasanter tone of voice than Troy's ever heard him utilize with any of the Wildcats.

Troy follows Ryan's gaze around the room, and notices that the receptionist, a dark-haired woman named Michelle, is gaping in the middle of a phone call, and a few of the bellhops are grinning and nudging each other while looking in their direction.

"Right." Embarrassed, Ryan reaches up to adjust his fedora. "Sorry, Mr. Fulton."

The angle of Mr. Fulton's brow softens faintly with acknowledgement of the apology. His eyes narrow skeptically as they land on Troy, however, as if questioning the credibility of the athlete's relationship with his employers' son.

Troy meets the stare head-on. "Mr. Fulton, I would _never_ hurt Ryan," he vows.

"Yes, I trust that you won't, provided you know what's good for you." Mr. Fulton quips. He takes his glasses off and wipes at them with a handkerchief that he extracts from the breast pocket of his suit jacket.

Ryan gives Troy a look that takes the wind out of the unspoken threat in the manager's statement.

Mr. Fulton slides his glasses back up his nose and replaces his handkerchief. With a curt nod at the twosome, he then sweeps through the room, instructing the idling employees, "Back to work, people! Mr. Evans and Mr. Bolton are not putting on a show for your pleasure." When this doesn't automatically motivate everyone, he adds, "There are always outdoor cleaning duties awaiting anyone who feels that they have too much free time on their hands!"

The receptionist rushes to pick her telephone conversation back up, and the two bellhops scurry to find something to look preoccupied with.

"I _know_ you would never hurt me," Ryan says in a dulcet voice, his conviction in his words teeming in his eyes. He lovingly takes Troy's face into his hands and kisses the freckles on the bridge of the brunette's nose.

With warm happiness flowing through his veins, Troy realizes that, if someone like Ryan could love him, then he _isn't_ a colossal jerk, or a selfish idiot.

 

 

* * *

 

A rusty pickup truck with chipped paint on its body pulls up in front of the Lava Springs resort, the uneven purr of the engine drowning out the chirping of crickets, the buzzing of cicadas and the distant yipping of coyotes. Troy hops out of the driver's side and rushes around the front of the truck to open the passenger door for Ryan.

"Thank you for a marvelous evening," Ryan says, squeezing Troy's bicep softly.

"It was my pleasure." Troy smiles.

A dinner at a nice, homey-feeling restaurant, and a trip to the movies where they spent the majority of the rather blase film talking film trivia and cuddling; all in all, the makings of a phenomenal evening. And, as he reflects on the events of their date, Troy notices that he's stalling. He's not ready to bid Ryan goodnight, just yet, and he cycles through his brain, searching for an excuse, for a reason to stick around.

"Hey, it's um, it's kind of chilly, tonight," Ryan says suddenly. "How do you feel about joining me for a dip in the hot tub?"

An opening. "I'd love to," Troy answers with an earnest smile. He couldn't have said no to Ryan, even if he wanted to, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Sinking into water that's been heated to just the _right_ temperature, Troy feels all of the tension slowly ebbing out of his muscles. He's far from used to these sorts of luxuries, but as long as it isn't imposing on his friends, he supposes that it's okay to indulge, just this once.

Ryan, who is also wearing a pair of Lava Springs swim trunks, shifts in closer to him. "Feels _wonderful_ , doesn't it?" He asks, sighing contentedly.

" _Amazing_ ," Troy stresses.

Ryan smiles, pleased with this answer. "You know what'll make it feel even better?"

Troy blinks. Nothing in particular comes to mind.

He hears Ryan inhale, then slender hands come down on his shoulders, and proceed to knead his collar bone. It's not the expert touch of a professional, but Ryan's ministrations have a careful precision to them that causes blissful tingles and heat to traverse the length of Troy's body. Troy moans quietly, his face flushing.

"You carry a lot of tension up here," Ryan murmurs, rubbing along Troy's shoulders, and down his biceps and shoulder blades. "All that basketball must be _rough_ on your upper body, huh?"

Troy chuckles, holding in a gasp as Ryan's fingertips brush against his ribs. "You have _no_ idea." The heat seems to concentrate in his stomach before pooling into the most sensitive region of his anatomy. He's melting, being reduced to putty in Ryan's scarily talented hands, and he can only hope that Ryan isn't aware of the all too obvious effect that he's having on the brunette. Troy moans again, unable to stop himself.

"You're not used to this, to being pampered, are you?" Ryan's voice is low, sexy. It feels like it's right up against Troy's ear, and his words are soft, sultry, tantalizing Troy's already hyper-responsive skin.

"Not exactly," Troy replies. Stifling a grunt, he closes his eyes, giving himself over to Ryan's skilled appendages. "You're really _good_ at this, Ryyy. Wh-Where did you…?"

"I-I might have gotten a few pointers from the head masseuse at the spa," Ryan confesses shyly. Troy can feel him shifting his lower body, and suddenly isn't as embarrassed by his own reaction to the intimate experience.

"Think you could talk him into giving me some pointers?" Troy inquires softly. He turns around to face the blond, his eyes half-lidded, breathing heavily and so. _Hard_.

"I would be very happy to," Ryan nearly purrs. He trails a hand up Troy's chest, his eyes darkened with desire, and then Troy is kissing at Ryan hungrily, hoisting him onto his lap to deepen the lip-lock. Making an ecstatic noise somewhere between a squeal and a whimper, Ryan wraps his legs around Troy's waist, bringing their hips together, and a needy, euphoric moan leaves Troy's throat.

Despite the bad reputation that the Evans twins have garnered at East High as spoiled "overgrown show dogs", Troy reasons that maybe getting pampered isn't such a bad thing, after all. As Ryan's lips graze the shell of Troy's secretly ultra-sensitive ear, and Troy kisses every inch of Ryan's creamy neck, he decides definitively that being pampered is actually really, _really_ awesome.

Later, after being thanked for an "unforgettable evening", and kissing Ryan before departing for the night, Troy texts Ryan, his _boyfriend_ , to let him know that he got home safely. Somewhat drowsily, he brushes his teeth, strips off his shirt, and changes into a pair of black and red plaid pajama pants. He returns to his phone and finds the response: **_Great! I'm so happy you did. :)_** And directly after it, **_Goodnight, baby._**

Smiling, Troy texts back: **Goodnight, babe.** He sets his phone on the charger and nestles into his quilt, feeling so thoroughly contented that he slips off into an easy, nightmare-less sleep within a few minutes.

 

 

* * *

 

Troy's eyes open, and he stretches languidly. On the pillows to his right, lies a hot blond boy with loving blue eyes, and a heart-ensnaring smile.

"Hey there, sleepyhead," Ryan greets him.

"Hey." Troy smiles back and snuggles in closer, still groggy and his limbs heavy with sleep. An early start on a Saturday to assist his mother with chores around the house, and help his father with yard work, coupled with an afternoon spent hanging out with Ryan and Kelsi at the mall, has left him exhausted. "What time is it?" He asks, suppressing a yawn.

"Well…" Ryan leans in to glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand to Troy's left. "According to your mom's reminder, it's about fifteen minutes 'til dinner."

"Wha-?" Troy hauls himself upright, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He's thankful that he skipped out on the eyeliner and ear studs, today, otherwise he would have black smudges on his hand and face. Besides, he's realized over the last week, or so, that he never had anything to prove to Ryan or Kelsi, in the first place.

"He-hey. Easy," Ryan soothes Troy, stroking through his shaggy brunette hair. "There's still plenty of time to make sure you're fully reintegrated with your own body, first."

"Right, right." Running a hand through his hair, Troy settles back down. He stares up at the ceiling for a few seconds, then looks to Ryan. "You know," he says, a smile gradually working its way across his face, "I wouldn't mind waking up like _this_ , everyday."

Ryan's eyes glow softly. "Me either," he replies, his voice a near whisper as he moves in and lays his head against Troy's chest. Their bodies fit perfectly together, Troy observes with a strange, heavy feeling that fills him from the top of his head to the ends of his fingers and toes.

Several minutes later, the two of them head out through the set of paned double doors into the Boltons' backyard, in search of something to do to kill time until dinner is ready. Troy leads Ryan over to the swing set beside the sprawling tree that houses his childhood sanctuary; a massive treehouse.

"Wow!" Ryan marvels at the sight of the fortress.

"It's great, isn't it?" Troy asks while jumping onto one of the swings foot first. His feet slide into the seat as he holds onto the ropes to keep himself upright.

Out of the corner of his eye, Ryan eyeballs him concernedly, as if wanting to make sure that Troy isn't going to topple off of the moving swing. "It _is_ great," he affirms with a smile. "Did you and your dad build it?"

"Yeah," Troy answers. Ryan takes a seat on the swing beside him and Troy adds, "One of these days, I'll take you up there, and show you around."

"I would really like that."

Troy nods, thrilled to hear it.

As Ryan begins pumping his legs, getting his swing moving just a bit, he looks to Troy. "Were you still planning on going to U of A, next fall?"

"I don't know." Troy's voice falters. He feels his stomach clench with an epiphany. "That's… That's sort of my dad's dream. I don't really know if it's mine."

"I understand," Ryan murmurs, and Troy can see the truth of that statement in Ryan's sky-colored eyes.

"What about you?" Troy inquires, arcing higher. Part of him is afraid to hear the answer. Ryan is destined for stardom, and that career path will take him anywhere. Especially far away from the small town folks in Albuquerque, New Mexico. Troy would never even consider holding him back, but the thought of losing Ryan is… _Unthinkable_.

As if he can read Troy's mind, and shares the same fear, Ryan chews the inside of his mouth, his brows knitting. "Nothing's set in stone yet," he promises.

Relief washes over Troy in a giant wave.

"But," Ryan's smile returns and he replies confidently, "I do know that I'll still be involved with East High's drama department."

"There's a big surprise," Troy teases Ryan affectionately, beaming.

Ryan lets out a light, musical laugh. "Shocker, right?" The laughter dies down and he adds softly, "I mean, I'd love to get to sing with you, again."

The weight of those words is reflected by the light in Ryan's eyes, and Troy feels his heart stir. He brings his swing to a stop. "I'd love to sing with you, too, Ry."

The two of them trade smiles, staring into each other's eyes. Ryan breaks the comfortable silence by going on, "And you know, I'll help you fill out and send in college applications."

"Thank you, Ryan." Troy hopes that the full extent of his gratitude is visible in his eyes. His smile doesn't leave his face as he dismounts his swing and heads over to Ryan's. Once he's standing in front of Ryan's swing, he kneels, putting himself at eye level with the blond boy. "So, uh…" Troy lays a hand over top of Ryan's on the rope. "What do you say to helping me give my room a makeover? It's long overdue for one."

"I'm game," Ryan answers keenly.

"Great." Troy grins. "Your stylistic expertise is immensely appreciated." He pauses to lick at his upper lip before going on, "And, is that offer to help me with my makeup still on the table?"

"You _know_ it," Ryan affirms quietly, honestly. His eyes glow underneath the veil of his eyelashes as he leans in.

Would Gabriella have been so willing to assist Troy with these things? Troy finds that he can't answer that question. But, he _isn't_ with Gabriella, anymore. "Now," he says slowly, meaning every word, and making sure that Ryan knows it, "how did I wind up with the _best boyfriend_ in the world?"

Ryan breaks into a modest grin that reveals his adorable overbite. Happiness melds with that heavy feeling from earlier, and Troy feels that the moment is right. He closes the gap, kissing Ryan softly.

They part, and smile lovingly at each other as Troy takes a place behind Ryan's swing. He begins gently pushing it, gradually helping Ryan to arc higher and higher. As he does so, Troy reflects on everything that he packaged away two weeks ago. Despite removing all traces of the golden boy that he once was, he hasn't given up basketball completely. He knows that, come basketball tryouts in the fall, he's going to be working his butt off to regain his position on the team. _But, I'm not East High's "Basketball Guy", anymore,_ he tells himself. _I'm just…_ Troy _._

And, that's all that he plans to be. Lightly pushing on Ryan's backside to propel the petite boy forward, Troy sings softly;

_I see myself, and finally recognize_

_My face_

_Now, I've got someone and_

_The world's not such a scary place_

 

Sure, he doesn't have his own dream, yet. However...

 

_The answers are still_

_Inside of me_

_All I've gotta do_

_Is believe_

 

He sees Ryan beaming at him encouragingly, and Troy's eyes glow softly with resolution. His dynamic increases, gusto backing every syllable.

 

_I'm gonna do it right_

_And, that's the way_

_To find out what I've got_

_Today, is the day_

_I'll find a dream that's worth a lot_

_I know I mean what I say_

 

_Bet on, bet on it_

 

His voice swells triumphantly as he promises himself;

_I can bet on me!_

 

 

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> I take great issue with the resolution to Troy's character arc in "High School Musical 2", and how Peter Barsocchini utterly botched the conflict that they were aiming for. I've watched two Disney Channel movies that feature the "protagonist lets fame and the perks that they're receiving go to their head and mistreats the people closest to them", plot. In both of them, they succeed at making you side against the main character, and sympathize with the victimized parties. 
> 
> In "High School Musical 2", Troy never once comes off as haughty, arrogant, or a jerk, like the writers intended. He's a sixteen year old boy whose family can't afford his college tuition. A rich family who has connections to the college that his father wants him to attend has their eyes on him. Both his father and his boss told him to seize the opportunity being presented to him, so Troy goes for it. And, he apologizes for going after this scholarship over and over again. While you're watching this movie and seeing Gabriella and Chad turn on Troy and begin hefting criticisms at him, you're not sympathizing with them. You're wondering : "How on earth does caring about ensuring a decent education for himself make Troy a bad person?" 
> 
> No. Troy isn't the bad guy. His friends are bullies. And, he shouldn't have had to buckle under their pressure and give up something so important. Which is why, in this story, he doesn't. (Thanks to a certain someone, much like in canon.)
> 
> Out of the blue, an idea came to me. I know that, in the past, there were several fics written about Ryan going goth. While that has the potential to make for an interesting story, Ryan Evans knows exactly who he is and what he wants out of life. One of the few things that "High School Musical 2" did right was demonstrate that for us. Troy Bolton, on the other hand, has every reason to want to rebel. Especially after the events of "High School Musical 2". And, what better way for him to do so than by donning black makeup and swapping out his red and white clothing for grungy plaid shirts and dark colored jeans? 
> 
> I will admit that, at one point, it saddened me greatly to realize that writing Troy standing up for himself almost feels out of character. But, this poor kid deserves to regain the self-respect needed to defend himself from the people who have the gall to insist that they know him better than he does, and who try to force their image of who he should be onto him. 
> 
> Who better to help him do just that than the one person who was on his side all along? 
> 
> I hope that you enjoyed this little yarn, and, as always, I have absolutely no ownership claims to anything recognizable.


End file.
